


Invitation Drabbles

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-31
Updated: 2006-07-31
Packaged: 2018-10-27 10:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10807380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Various drabbles Various pairings.





	Invitation Drabbles

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
The Language of Flowers

It was now or never. Palms damp with sweat, Neville walked up to Hermione, thrusting the red and yellow tulips clutched in his fist toward her. “H-happy birthday, Hermione,” he said, stammering only a little bit.

Hermione’s eyes widened at the sight of the flowers, before she smiled up at Neville. “They’re lovely. Thank you!” Impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Wait until I show these to Ron!”

He watched her walk away, carrying both his flowers and his heart with her, unsurprised yet resigned. He’d always known it was hopeless. It was why he’d chosen the tulips.

 

 

  
Quick Save

“Trevor, come back here!” Muttering under his breath, Neville dived under the compartment seat in pursuit of his freedom-loving toad, one hand still clutching the small bag of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans he had just purchased as the other groped for his pet.

Straightening, he bumped his head on the seat, simultaneously dropping the bag of sweets. A small, feminine hand grabbed it from the air before they could hit the floor and spill.

Rubbing his head, Neville looked up at Ginny, who held the bag to him. “Nice save,” he gasped. “Want a bean?”

Ginny smiled back. “Thanks.”

 

 

  
Thoughts and Remembrance

Pansy was accustomed to receiving pansies as gifts: potted pansies, usually. She’d never been presented with a bouquet like this; the blooms nestled among sprigs of a spiky green plant, the stems bundled in lace and tied with ribbon, with a tiny roll of parchment attached to the bow.

Unfurling the parchment, Pansy read aloud, “‘There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance: pray you, love, remember…And there is pansies, that’s for thoughts.’”

Startled, she looked up quickly at a blushing Neville, who had given her the flowers in the first place.

“It’s true, love,” he said. “You’re always in my thoughts. Always.”

 

 

  
Extracurricular Activity

Neville came with a sharp groan, fingers digging into Harry’s hips hard enough to bruise. He waited until his breathing had steadied somewhat before rolling to one side, taking Harry with him so that they snuggled together on the greenhouse floor.

“I didn’t hurt you too much, did I?” Neville asked anxiously. “I’m sorry if I did…”

Harry reached up, his hand smoothing the stricken expression from Neville’s face. “It did at first,” he admitted, before reassuring the other boy with a sweet, dazzling smile. “After that, though, it was wonderful. In fact, I can’t wait to do it again.”

 

 

  
Gingerbread

“It’s done!” Ginny announced, pulling the pan from the oven and setting it down to cool. The sweet, spicy aroma of fresh gingerbread wafted through the kitchen of the flat she shared with Neville. “It’s probably not as good as Mum’s, but it should be edible at least.”

“It’ll be fine,” Neville assured her. “You know I love gingerbread. It reminds me of you.”

“Really? How so?”

Neville smiled shyly. “It’s sweet, with a bit of bite. Like you.”

“Sweet, with bite?” Ginny twined her arms around him, nipping at his lower lip before kissing him soundly. “Like that?”

“Exactly.”


End file.
